Classical Singer: What was your father’s profession?
Cynthia Lawrence: He’s an astrogeophysical research engineer—literally a rocket scientist. He has a double PhD in mathematics and physics. He dabbles in music. He thinks he can play the piano; he tries to play the violin; he plays the recorder and the accordion. His name is George, his father’s name is George, and his grandfather’s name is George. He was always a scientific type and thought I was going to go into chemistry too, because I was always an A-plus student. I could do that stuff, but one thing led to another…
Did your mother work outside the home?
My mom, Judy Robinson Lawrence, is a seamstress, author and businesswoman. In the late 60s, she became an expert at a technique called “Stretch and Sew.” She wrote books and gave seminars on the Stretch and Sew technique, and it became a big business. She put me to work in the office, so I learned all about running an office from the time I was really small. My Mom traveled around the country doing seminars. She brought me to New York for the first time when I was nine.
Was she a musician?
She played the piano. She insisted I take piano lessons from first to sixth grade, and I hated practicing. I begged her to let me quit. She agreed but then sold the piano! I was miserable about that.
What were your other interests?
At the age of nine, I started showing horses. It gave me a greater sense of self. It may sound strange, but horses really helped me prepare for the life of a singer. I think that’s what gave me strength, determination, concentration and nerves of steel. If you are on a horse and get nervous, the horse gets nervous, so you learn to be calm under the worst circumstances.
When did you know you wanted to be a singer?
I got the bug from Dwayne Staggers, the choir director at Baseline Jr. High in Colorado. Because I could sing from an A above high C to a C below middle C, he kept moving me around wherever he needed me. I did show choirs and all-state competitions and was absolutely thrilled by it. I dreamed about doing the high school musical. That was the pinnacle of artistic success. My mother finally got the piano back, and I constantly played it to the point where my brothers would throw things at me and say, “SHUT UP!” I would play Broadway tunes and sing at the top of my lungs.
Finally when I was 16, my mother dragged me to a voice teacher in Boulder, shoved me through the door and basically said, “Do something with this!” I sang, “I’m as Corny as Kansas in August” completely in chest voice for him. He told my mother I had talent but didn’t tell me.
I then ended up with a teacher associated with University of Colorado. I did a competition called Stars of Tomorrow. I was going to be the next Dolly Parton. One of the judges was the Dean of the College of Music and was going to hear me at the Young Artists competition. He told me I really needed to continue with my voice studies. I was devastated. He heard me the next week singing “Batti, Batti” and “Donde Lieta Usci.” He came up to me and said, “With a voice like that, why would you waste your time on Country Western?” I was completely incensed at that.
Well, one thing led to another, and I ended up at the University of Colorado because my parents told me, “If you go out of state you pay for it, if you stay in state, we’ll help you.”
Whom do you credit with teaching you to sing?
Barbara Doscher was my one and only teacher. She passed away about seven years ago. It was a great loss; she was a great pedagogue. She was a student of Berton Coffin. She took his technique and ideas farther and put them down in her own books. I give her the credit for teaching me a technique that has held me up in the worst of times and kept me solid over the years.
Do you know any teachers who are teaching her method? For instance, if you got into vocal trouble, where would you go?
I’d go to my husband, tenor Mark Calkins, who studied with her. Patrick Mason is another at the University of Colorado who is excellent.
Aside from your teacher, are there any books or philosophies that help you?
I think what helped me the most was the philosophy I got from my parents that if you concentrate, work hard, and do your homework by searching and asking questions, you can accomplish your goals. There’s so much information available. Most artists and colleagues, unless they are particularly paranoid, are willing to share something.
What was the most frustrating thing about your particular voice when you were learning to sing?
I thought I knew it all. I have a tendency to “color outside the lines,” so to speak. I’ve always been able to sing lower and higher than people thought I should. Early on, I never saw the problem with having “raw talent,” because I didn’t grow up in an operatic home. I didn’t know what schooled talent was. I had to learn everything from the ground up, including interpretation, style, and language.
What do you think of the importance of music in the world?
Music has the ability to take you to a place that you may have thought was lost. Maybe you never knew it was there. Music moves you to the greatest sorrow, or the greatest joy, in the innermost part of your soul. When you reach out and need comfort or solace, or just need to be told that the world goes on and that life continues, music is there for you. If you listen, even the world itself is making music all of the time.
What’s been the hardest thing about being a professional?
It’s hard to be away from home. It’s hard when the kids get on the phone and say, “Mommy, come home.” Early on, they’d come up and put their hands on my mouth and say, “Mommy, don’t sing,” because they knew when I’d start to sing it would mean I was preparing for a job. I really am a homebody. I like to get my hands dirty in the garden. I even like to catch frogs for my girls in the summer.
What’s brought you the greatest joy?
When I feel like I’ve made a difference. One thing I’ll always remember is an experience with Harvey Rosenstein, my very first agent, who worked for Herbert Breslin. When I was looking at doing my first Madame Butterfly, he said he wasn’t coming to see it because he hated the show. I said, “What is there to hate?” He said, “It’s been ruined, slaughtered, over sung.” I said, “You come to my audition for New York City Opera.” He came and sat in the corner. I sang all three arias. It was one of those great auditions, and I looked at him somewhere in the middle of the third aria. He had his hand over his eyes, and he was shaking. I talked to him afterwards, and with tears streaming down his face, he said, “Thanks. Thanks for redeeming it for me.” Every now and then you get an experience like that—some exquisite moment—and it keeps you going.
How did you get into the Young Artists Program in Chicago?
I heard about the auditions while I was in my last semester of graduate studies, in January of 1987. Mark and I had been married two years. I went down to Houston for the first audition. Weeks later, I was asked to come to Chicago, and I sang onstage. I left my last semester of graduate studies to do the Young Artists program. I finished my degree via the mail.
I’m glad I have I my Master’s degree, because I know I have it. It hasn’t gotten me any jobs. No professional hirer has ever asked me if I had it.
Did you do any other YA programs?
I did Central City in 1986. I was at Chicago Lyric for two years; Mark was an apprentice there the second year. I planned on being in the program for three years, but it didn’t work. They said I was ready to go.
Afterwards, I begged for my first pro job at Colorado Springs as Kate Pinkerton. Don Jenkins said, “Why do you want to do that?” I said, “I’ve got to sing!” That was my first job. It was great.
I flew to New York and had six auditions in two days for managers. The last one was John Anderson. I was exhausted, and he sat me down and told me that I looked really tired. I didn’t care by that point. You learn about stamina and concentration, and what is smart and what isn’t. That trip wasn’t. I went home exhausted and discouraged.
Prior to that trip, I’d been doing lots of competitions. I’d been chosen as one of the 14 Pavarotti winners. So what did that mean now that I was trying to break into the professional world? I went home from New York all dejected.
Saturday morning after I got home, the phone rang. Mark and I were asleep. I picked it up and realized I was on a three-way conference call with Herbert Breslin, Luciano Pavarotti and an engineer at Avery Fisher Hall.
“We’d like to know if you’d be available to come to New York next week for the Pavarotti Plus concert.”
I repeated the words as I heard them, and Mark sat up with big eyes. I said calmly, “Let me check my schedule.” I covered the phone and Mark and I both did a silent scream of joy, completely out of our minds. I then calmly went back to the phone and said, “Well yes, I think I am available….”
So the next week, Mark and I left for New York. I was cool as a cucumber. Mark said he was a basket case and couldn’t believe how calm I was. I swear it was all the work with horses! All the experience with horses had taught me to be calm under pressure.
You handle pressure well?
I’ve had to. One of the things I’m best known for is going on for roles I wasn’t covering! For example, in Chicago I was busy singing First Lady in Magic Flute. In the morning I got to the opera house and someone ran to me and said, “Tom Blandford needs to see you!” I thought, “Oh no! What have I done now?” My cover stepped in to do the rehearsal and I meekly went to his office and shut the door. Tom said, “Do you know Micaela (Carmen)” “YYYYess.” In French.” Meanwhile my mind is scrambling. The last time I sang it in French was five years previous and that had been for some school shows….Good I’d like you to take the score. We’re pulling you out of rehearsals for Flute and putting you in rehearsals for Carmen and you’re singing it tonight. I ended up doing the rest of the run of Micaelas.
How could you do that? You hadn’t sung it in five years!
I’ve done that on many occasions. That’s how I did the next Pavarotti concert. They called my on a Thursday in Chicago to fly to London on Friday to sing a concert on Sunday.
Was this music you knew already?
No. I said, “What’s the program?” They told me. I said, “I know that, I know that, change that, I’ll learn that, I know that, change that, I’ll learn that and that.” They sent me the ticket put me on the plane. I stayed at Leeds Castle, and slept in Anne Boleyn’s bedroom
How were you able to keep a role in your mind after five years?
When I was in Chicago, I learned how to learn. I took roles apart note by note. If I knew the direction and why it went there, I had it and never lost it. Giulio Favario was the most methodical annoying genius at the keyboard as far as coaching young singers. He taught me Postcard from Morocco in a week. He taught me Der Rosenkavalier, he taught me Faust in a week because he was able to take the thing apart. He would spend 20 minutes on the dissertation on why that note led to this and what you were listening for and that’s where you arrived. And I would get it. This was my mathematical background and once I understood that it never left me. I’ve got 25-30 roles rolling around in my head right now that I know if I had to I could pull up in hours or days.
Do you speak any foreign languages?
I speak Italian and German quite conversationally. I understand what is coming at me. My French is rather rough. I took them in college but it was the intense Berlitz training as part of the Lyric Opera of Chicago Training program. We had three hours of Berlitz every morning five days a week. And then in the fall season they threw you onstage with the directors who were communicating only in German or only in Italian and you would sink or swim. I remember my first Trovatore; I was singing Inez. Anna Tomowa-Sintow, was my first Leonora. She was Hungarian but rehearsals were in German. The director was having a discussion about the first scene. She was speaking to the Italians in Italian, speaking to the Germans in German and then turned to me and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” I said, “It’s ok. I understand.” She said, “Oh thank you!”
The Pavarotti Competition turned out to be really pivotal in launching your career. How did that come about?
The day of the semifinals of the Pavarotti Competition, I was literally between performances at Chicago Lyric. They told me I couldn’t go, but I begged them. I was backstage at the competition and the minutes were ticking by. I was frantic, because my plane was leaving in one hour, and I had to be on it in order to be back in time for the performance in Chicago. Jane Nelson, who was running the competition, told Pavarotti my predicament. It was time for the notoriously long “break.” Everyone started to leave, and I realized I wouldn’t get to sing. I started to gather up my things to leave, terribly disappointed. Suddenly I heard “Cinsia, dove sei?” [Cynthia, where are you?] I burst onto the stage, and Pavarotti said, “Hello bebe. What are you going to sing?” I went completely blank. He saw that and said, “Sing something nice.” I said, “How about ‘The Jewel Song?’” “That ees good.” After I sang, he said, “That was nice,” and asked if I had anything else. I sang another aria, we talked, and suddenly I saw how late it was and said, “Gotta go!” I raced out to catch my plane. As soon as I caught my breath, I thought, “That was weird.” But that is how he remembered me, I think.
You were remembered for more than rushing out, though!
Yes! I made it to the finals, and it was telecast live. Breslin, Pavarotti’s agent, was in the audience and asked me if I had management. Mind you, this was two weeks after I’d been to New York and sung for six managers with almost zero response. I said no, and Breslin said, “Good. We want you.” I said, “Can I think about it?” He said, “Good diva answer!” That was my intro to the way of agents.
How did your performing relationship with Pavarotti come about?
A week after the finals, the Pavarotti competition called me and asked me to sing Adina in L’ Elisir d’amor in Philadelphia. We rehearsed from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. every day. Luciano was teaching me every single day. I was unbelievably thrilled. One day we had an orchestra sitzprobe. Emerson Buckley was the conductor. It was at 10 a.m. I’m sorry, I thought, but I don’t sing high at 10 a.m., so I was marking. Pavarotti stopped the orchestra, came over, and with that Italian gesture of pinched fingers in my face said, “Do eet!”
We got to the final part, and I sang the high C. He stopped the orchestra and came over to me and said, “You’re not breathing.” “Yes I am.” “No you’re not. Do it again.” I sang the high C ten times. Finally I breathed deeply enough. The sound wasn’t being allowed to vibrate on the air. I was squeezing it out. From that day I learned to trust his ears, his sense of sound, and his sense of flow. He’s a good teacher when people are open to his ideas and his comments without being flustered by his grandness. And the education I’ve received from standing next to him onstage making music with him for 13 years over 50 concerts worldwide has been unbelievable. I could never pay for that. He’s held my hand and I’ve held his over some rough spots. He’s a wonderful human being. I’ve seen the other side of him, of course, as he’s seen mine. We’re all human beings. It’s absolutely been an education and a thrill.
He’s been my mentor. He treats me with respect, and I treat him with respect. He doesn’t terrify my like he does other people. I think he’s always appreciative.
What’s been the highlight of your career so far?
There’s a couple. First was Lady Macbeth at Opera Colorado—that’s my home state. It was my debut with Opera Colorado and my first Verdi role. When I came out for my first curtain call and the entire audience started screaming and leapt to their feet, I was completely blown away and speechless.
The other things are perhaps last year’s Sly here at the Met. Who knew it would be such a terrific part? I got to throw myself on Luciano Pavarotti at the end of the opera after singing a tremendous high C, and as soon as the curtain closed what the audience never saw was that the first night he was sobbing and threw his arms around me and said, “That was wonderful!” Moments like that are incredible!
How did “The Three Sopranos” come to pass?
This was the brainchild of Tibor Rudas, who came up with the idea for the Three Tenors. He was convinced that it was time for the age of the soprano to be brought to pass. All three of the sopranos were with the Breslin agency. We spent weeks in negotiations with him and his people. I was the first soprano chosen for the project. Shortly after, I was told that Rudas had found the second one, Kallen Esperian. Kathleen Cassello was found at a concert in South Africa which Luciano did. We made a CD and video. We wore real diamonds for the first concerts, and we had haute couture gowns.
How long did “The Three Sopranos” last?
I believe it was 26 concerts. It was supposed to be a nine-year contract, but it ended up being a five-year contract because various things were happening economically and with the market, and it didn’t end up being what we thought it would. There was a difference of opinions with the three of us, and it ended up being dissolved. So it was great while it lasted. Near the end, I began hearing comments from the three boys. They thought it was bad for us. It wasn’t serious opera. We needed to build our careers based on opera, not Broadway and fluff.
It was good for them to do “Broadway and fluff,” but not for you?
Yes, because they had made their careers already. We were still working on establishing ourselves. A lot of opera companies asked me, “Is this really where you want to go?” There were people who would come to the concerts and would pan the Broadway songs because we “shouldn’t be singing Broadway.” But to every one of those people we would say, “But did you enjoy it? Why were you standing on your feet asking for encores?” The response was very confusing. Even so, it was a great learning experience. I got to see the world.
Do you have any other recordings?
Not yet. My voice doesn’t record well in close proximity. When I do make a recording, which I plan on doing this year, I need to have a good space. I have an engineer and a conductor, and I’m honing in on an orchestra. Now, I just have to make the decision on repertoire.
You chose marriage and family. Did you always want this?
No. When I was young I wanted romance and was convinced I would find Prince Charming, but shortly before meeting Mark I’d had so many bad experiences, I’d sworn off men entirely! Mark is the only man I dated who was wonderfully sweet, human, kind, funny, and extremely supportive.
Mark was given a graduate opera fellowship at University of Colorado because we were doing Bohéme and we needed a tenor. He’d heard about “the” soprano and I’d heard about “the” tenor, but we didn’t know that we had just started dating each other! As fate would have it two years later, we sang Mimi and Rodolfo on a Thursday and Saturday, and got married on Sunday. We had the family in town for the opera and thought we might as well get married.
Did you always want children?
Not until I met Mark and knew he had the love and heart and patience. Rowan is seven Shannon is four. Mark is now teaching at a local college so our family can be home and not on the road. His mother comes for two days a week while he teaches. He has done the lion’s share of the parenting.
How has pregnancy affected your voice?
Wonderfully! When the hormones started kicking in, I always felt warmed up. Progesterone, which helps the baby grow, also helps the mucous membranes. With the first pregnancy, I sang up until I was seven months along. I had a concert three weeks after Rowan was born, and everyone said, “Whoa! What did you do to your voice?” It was bigger, richer. It was a little bit unwieldy at first, but things got more stable eventually. Things I’d had to work hard at before seemed easier. I never lost any range. I made my Met debut as Rosalinda when Rowan was two months old. With the second child, I sang Butterfly while eight months pregnant.
Do you feel like the opera world is prejudiced against you because you have children?
Sometimes. There are those who think that a parent might not be willing to give their whole life to a singing career. As for me, I love my career. I feel like I have something unique to give. But if I couldn’t sing suddenly—which I don’t plan on—I could find something else to satisfy myself. I feel sorry for singers who are so wrapped up in singing that they have nothing else. Those people are getting fewer and further between, I think. I feel it is very healthy to have a lot of different interests. I feel like grabbing single-focused people by the shirts and saying to them, “Go get a dog! Go plant a flower! Go run barefoot in the park!”
Do you have a fitness routine?
Yoga. I’ve always insisted that you have to stretch and activate the musculature in your body before you attempt to make it work by singing. I find my warm-ups are shorter if the body is awake and alive and flexible. I’ve been in situations where I’ve been told, “So-and-so is sick. You’ve got to be in your dressing room in five minutes.” What do you do in five minutes to get ready? I stretch and breathe, and then I can be on top of my voice.
